


Doing Good (for you and me)

by cathcer1984



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Homelessness, Hypothermia, M/M, Post-War, Unhappy Harry, secret snarry swap 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2019-06-22 12:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathcer1984/pseuds/cathcer1984
Summary: Harry doesn't want to celebrate, so instead he helps the Muggle homeless. He finds a familiar face and can't let go.





	Doing Good (for you and me)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this, [personal profile] writcraft! I had a great time writing this for you, Happy Holidays!
> 
> A huge thank you to [personal profile] digthewriter for the beta. To [personal profile] magicalthings for all her help and [personal profile] torino10154 for being so patient with me!
> 
> Prompt: #38 During the holiday season, Harry comes across a request for volunteers to work on Christmas Day to feed those living on the streets of Muggle London. He decides to forgo his usual holiday at The Burrow to help the Muggle charity. Imagine his surprise when he comes across a familiar face in the most unexpected of places.

  
**Title:** Doing Good (for you and me)  
 **Author:** [](http://drarryxlover.livejournal.com/profile)[**drarryxlover**](http://drarryxlover.livejournal.com/)  
 **Other pairings/threesome:** Mention of Harry/Charlie, George/Hermione  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Word count:** ~5300  
 **Content/Warning(s):** None  
 **Prompt:** #38 During the holiday season, Harry comes across a request for volunteers to work on Christmas Day to feed those living on the streets of Muggle London. He decides to forgo his usual holiday at The Burrow to help the Muggle charity. Imagine his surprise when he comes across a familiar face in the most unexpected of places.  
 **Summary:** Harry doesn't want to celebrate, so instead he helps the Muggle homeless. He finds a familiar face and can't let go.  
 **A/N:** I hope you enjoy this, [](https://writcraft.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**writcraft**](https://writcraft.dreamwidth.org/)! I had a great time writing this for you, Happy Holidays!

A huge thank you to [](https://digthewriter.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**digthewriter**](https://digthewriter.dreamwidth.org/) for the beta. To [](https://magicalthings.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**magicalthings**](https://magicalthings.dreamwidth.org/) for all her help and [](https://torino10154.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**torino10154**](https://torino10154.dreamwidth.org/) for being so patient with me!

  
** Doing Good (for you and me) **   


Though the weather had become chillier, and all the shops and streets were decorated with bright baubles and wreaths, it didn’t feel like Christmas. Not this year, not after everything that had happened. How were they supposed to celebrate when so many people were dead?

There would be no Fred to help George make everyone laugh, no Remus or Tonks to see Teddy’s first Christmas. There was no joy this year. Harry felt out of sorts as he watched people hurrying around doing their holiday shopping laughing and carrying on, and there he was sad and lonely—feeling so very guilty.

He walked through Diagon Alley quickly, with his head down, not wanting to be noticed. He slipped through the Leaky Cauldron and out into the Muggle world. There, he could breathe. Muggles didn’t know who he was, and they didn’t stop him in the street to shake his hand or bow to him.

The Christmas decorations felt just as _wrong_ here as they did in the Wizarding world. Harry took a gulping breath, the cold stinging his lungs before he set off for Grimmauld Place; he reckoned that the long walk would help clear his head. It also had the added bonus of not being at home, where Molly or one of the Weasleys could pressure him into going to the Burrow for Christmas dinner.

After an hour or so of walking, Harry’s legs ached and his hands were stiff from the cold, so he headed for the nearest café for a cup of tea. The café was small and cosy, but most importantly, it was warm. Harry sighed happily as the heat welcomed him and he stood in the queue behind a little old man in scruffy clothes and a girl with purple spiky hair which reminded him so much of Tonks that he had to look away.

There were three other people in the café, a bald man with a stack of papers next to him, an old woman reading a newspaper, and a young waiter who was wiping down the tables.

“That’ll be two pound fifty, sir.” The voice was loud and startled Harry; he looked to see the old man before the counter patting down his pockets, pulling out a few stray coins. The man behind the counter pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows disapprovingly. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Now, wait a minute—” The old man started to cough and Harry stepped forward.

“Here,” he said, shoving a ten pound note into the server’s hand. “And I’ll have a cup of tea with a toasted cheese and ham sandwich please.”

The server rang up the cost and handed Harry the change, which he gave to the old man. “Here you go,” Harry said gently, putting his arm around the man’s shoulders and leading him to a table.

They sat in relative silence; the old man’s raspy breath and the server clattering about in the background were the only noises. When the waiter brought over the tea and the sandwich, which he placed in front of Harry, he sneered slightly, then left.

Harry passed the sandwich over to the old man, who spluttered, and Harry just smiled. “It’s only going to go to waste otherwise. I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Peter.” The old man smiled, showing a few yellow teeth, before he started to eat.

About half an hour later, Peter left after heartily thanking Harry for his kindness. Harry, too, was about to leave when the bald man stopped him. “I think this might interest you, young man. I know it’s short notice but if you can be there, we’d be very grateful.” He handed Harry a page from his stack of papers before turning away.

The page was a flyer advertising for volunteers to go around London handing out food, blankets and water to the homeless. A large group would be going out Christmas Eve. Harry nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Think it over, lad, talk to your family. If you’re serious, I’ll see you at the shelter at five,” the bald man said and Harry nodded again, folding the flyer into his pocket before leaving.

*^*

 

At quarter to five in the evening, Harry made his way to the address on the flyer; it was an unobtrusive building with a group of about thirty people, all wrapped up against the cold, milling around. The bald man from the café spotted Harry and strode over. “You made it!”

“I said I would,” Harry replied defensively.

“You’ll have to forgive me, lad. I’ve had a fair few people say yes and never show.” He held out his gloved hand. “I’m Ian. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Harry.”

Ian shook Harry’s hand before excusing himself. He went to the front of the crowd that was gathered where there was an assigned van and driver with the supplies that they’d be handing out and divided them up into groups of five. Harry’s group consisted of Ian, a blond plump woman named Sara, a young teen named Sam, and a big burly bloke called Tim. They were assigned to head to some of the back alleys of London.

Harry was feeling a nervous sort of excitement as Ian drove them to their destination. The others were chattering amongst themselves but Harry stayed silent. When Ian parked he twisted in the driver’s seat to look at them seriously. “There are a couple of difficult characters out here. One they call Doctor, and another they call Miser. He’s a grumpy old bastard but treat them all the same and give a blanket to everyone. Even the grumpy bastards.” Ian grinned and the others laughed along nervously.

They piled out of the van with a few blankets and items of food each and headed into the alleys. Harry saw a young girl with a dirty face and bright blue eyes crouched next to a rubbish bin. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Harry.”

“You want a blow job, Mister?”

Taken aback, Harry smiled awkwardly. “Uh, no thank you. I’m just handing out some blankets and food. Would you like either?”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Sure you don’t want somethin’? People don’t give anythin’ for nought.”

“I do,” Harry said seriously, handing her the blanket and one of the food containers. “Happy Christmas.”

“Ain’t no such thing as a ‘appy Christmas, Mister.”

“No? What makes you say that?”

Shrugging the girl opened the container and pulled out a bread roll that she bit savagely. “Ain’t got no one to make it ‘appy.”

Harry crouched down before her. “Neither do I. Not really, they all died.”

“Like for real?”

“Yes.” Harry huffed a bitter laugh. “For real. My family, some of my friends are all dead.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You sound like the Doctor.”

“Doctor who?” Harry asked.

She started to laugh. “Doctor Who, get it?”

“I’ve heard of it, a show on the telly, right?” Harry asked, a bit confused, hoping he’d got the right reference.

“You live under a rock, Mister?”

With a smile, Harry stood. “Something like that. Is there anyone else down here?”

The girl nodded her head vigorously and said, “Nope,” loudly. Frowning, Harry peered into the alley and looked back at the girl, who was nodding at him. Pointing into the alley, Harry mouthed, “Doctor?” The girl grinned and Harry waved a ‘thanks’ before heading deeper into the alley.

“Hello?” Harry called out; there was no sound, but that didn’t mean anything. Peering carefully, Harry made out the shape of another rubbish bin and a couple of doorways. He could have lit his wand but the light might be too bright for someone who hid in the dark.

Cautiously, Harry took a few steps to look closer at the bin. Suddenly he was slammed into the ground: something sharp was at his throat, a heavy body on top of him and a voice growled in his ear, “I’m going to let you go and you’re going to get the fuck out of my alley.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered hoarsely, swallowing heavily, his Adam’s apple pressing into the sharp thing at his neck. The hand eased away and the body rolled off him and Harry got to his knees, “I’m going to pick up my stuff, if that’s alright? But I’ll leave a blanket and some food for you.”

“I don’t want your pity!” the ‘Doctor’ spat. Something in his tone made Harry pause; despite the hoarseness of his voice, it snagged at something in his memory.

Harry calmly collected his extra blankets and food packets and surreptitiously drew his wand before turning. He stayed crouched and launched himself at the ‘Doctor’. Harry held his wand against the man’s temple.

The dark eyes widened in surprise but the man’s face was as full of disdain as it had been during Potions class. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“And yet here I am, Potter.”

“Fucking hell, Snape.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. Not knowing what to do, he glanced at the opening of the alleyway where the girl was probably still sitting, before looking back at Snape. His hair was lanker and greasier than it had ever been, his beard was made of coarse black hair, an inch or so long, and his face was grimy. Snape’s clothes were thick but the worse for wear and torn in places, his neck was red and angry-looking but his eyes were what frightened Harry the most. They were dark, deep and lifeless.

He looked like a broken man.

Harry sighed heavily. “Let me take you home.”

Snorting, Snape glared at Harry. “No. I do not want your pity, _Potter_ , I will not allow myself to be made a fool of.”

“No one will make a fool of you. You have my word that I will do everything in my power to help you get back on your feet.”

“I do not need your help in getting arrested.”

Harry started to speak and, frowning, said, “You won’t be arrested. You’ve received a full pardon and—” Harry hesitated, “—and an Order of Merlin, first class.”

The way Snape looked at Harry then made Harry want to flee; it was full of disgust. “I do not want or need either of those things.”

“Perhaps that’s true, perhaps it’s not. But either way, you need help and I’m offering it. At least let me get you clean with a warm shower, a hot meal and looked over; your– your neck doesn’t look good. Can you at least allow that? I don’t want you dying of infection.”

“You already thought I was dead,” Snape said, low.

“I assumed because your body wasn’t in the Shrieking Shack. I went back for you, for your body. Technically we have to wait twenty-four months to declare you dead. So everything that was yours is still yours.” Snape was quiet, so Harry huffed out a breath and said, “I’m a Gryffindor, Snape, so you know I’m not doing this for an ulterior motive.”

Harry watched closely as Snape’s shoulders drooped and his head bobbed in an abortive sort of nod. Standing, Harry held out his hand and helped Snape up; he drew him to the front of the alley and down the road to where the van was waiting.

Ian was standing by the van and he stared at Harry as he came down with Snape trailing along behind him. “Lad—” Ian began but Harry shook his head.

“Please don’t. He’s an old… friend,” Harry said, glancing at Snape, who merely raised an eyebrow in response. Ian looked between the two of them frowning before realisation seemed to dawn on him.

“Oh, okay. I can’t really condone this but you’re sure you know him?”

“Yes,” Harry said firmly. “Do you mind if I head off, then?” Harry asked, handing over the blankets and food he never got to give out.

Ian glanced between Harry and Snape before nodding, “Yeah, sure. Merry Christmas, Harry.”

Smiling, Harry took hold of Snape’s wrist. “Yeah, you too, Ian,” he said before leading Snape away. They rounded a corner and headed into an alley before Harry Apparated them to Grimmauld Place.

*^*

Harry was in the kitchen making tea when Snape found him an hour later. He was clean, dressed in a pair of old robes that some Order member had left behind, and had shaved; the smoothness of his cheeks showed how great a toll living on the streets had taken on Harry’s old professor. Snape’s face was gaunt, his skin pale, which only made his neck look even more angry.

“Will you let me call Madam Pomfrey? Or Hermione? To take a look at your neck. Please?”

With a resigned look, Snape nodded. “I believe that would be beneficial. I had not realised how bad it has become.” He paused for a moment. “I trust that Miss Granger would be able to keep this quiet? I know that Poppy would immediately tell Minerva.”

“Hermione won’t tell anyone. Though it’s Weasley now.” Harry laughed at the shocked look on Snape’s face.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time before she and the youngest male Weasley would marry.” Snape frowned when Harry grinned and shook his head.

“She married George,” Harry said. “I’ll get her over right away.” He drew his wand and flicked it. Prongs, his Patronus, pawed at the ground as Harry asked him to get Hermione. A few seconds later, the stag was disappearing through the wall. “Fancy a cuppa?”

“Please,” Snape said. “Milk, no sugar.”

“Sweet enough?” Harry asked, and when Snape just glared at him, Harry flushed; he’d forgotten who he was talking to, and he busied himself with making the tea.

A few minutes later, the Floo flared and Hermione stepped out. With her hand on her rounded stomach, she took one look at Harry’s red face and had started to speak when Snape cleared his throat. Hermione turned to look at him and her eyes widened comically. “Professor! I— We—”

“Indeed, Mrs Weasley. May I offer my congratulations on your recent marriage and pregnancy?”

“Uh, thank you,” she said, sounding unsure. Her eyes flicked toward Harry, who shook his head, indicating that he hadn’t told Snape the circumstances of her marriage and pregnancy. “It’s good to have you back, sir.”

Snape inclined his head and chanced a glance at Harry, who brought the tea over the Muggle way. Harry smiled. “Would you take a look at his neck, Hermione?”

“Of course, if I may?” Hermione asked as she approached. Snape reached up and began to undo the buttons on his robes; Harry was fascinated watching those long, pale fingers undo each tiny button until Snape’s collarbones were exposed and he tilted his head to allow Hermione a better view of his neck.

She peered at it, waving her wand, and eventually she sighed. “There’s an infection but luckily the snake’s venom is gone. I’ve brought this paste…” She waved her wand and an unmarked jar flew out of her bag into her hand. “George made it. It is incredible for stubborn wounds and infections; put it on twice a day and, if it’s not better in a week, I’ll take another look.”

Snape thanked her and took the jar. He opened it immediately and sniffed the contents, frowning at the white substance inside. When he noticed that Hermione and Harry were watching him, he stood up instantly. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said before leaving the room, jar in hand.

Harry licked his lips as the man walked away. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him and he half smiled embarrassedly. “Don’t, Hermione. Just don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Harry took a swig of his tea and said, “You staying for a cuppa or do you have to get back?”

“I need to get back to George. You know he doesn’t like to be alone for long, he still struggles.” Hermione’s face crumpled. “Sometimes he says something and looks around the room for Fred. It breaks my heart; he still won’t look in the mirror. But this one helps.” She placed a hand on her baby bump.

“Do you know what it is yet?”

“Not for another three weeks. Next scan, you’ll know as soon as we do.” She came around the table and pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, Harry and be careful.”

“I trust him, Hermione. I couldn’t just leave him on the streets,” Harry said quietly, just as Snape came back into the kitchen, robes buttoned and his neck glistening with the residue of the paste.

Hermione nodded and headed for the Floo. “Happy Christmas, Harry, and you, sir.”

“Yeah,” Harry hummed. “Tell them I won’t be there tomorrow.”

“Harry—”

“Leave it, Hermione,” he growled and she nodded before Flooing away.

Sipping his tea, Harry felt Snape’s eyes on him, “What?” he snapped.

“It’s Christmas soon?”

“Tomorrow. It’s Christmas Eve today.”

“There are no decorations,” Snape said evenly.

“I don’t want to celebrate,” Harry answered. “I’m going to bed. Help yourself to anything and any room you want.” He stormed out of the kitchen, Snape’s eyes on him all the while.

*^*

Christmas Day passed by in tedious fashion. Harry stayed in his room for a long time before venturing down to the kitchen for food. Snape had cleared up from the night before, but where he’d been since then, Harry did not know. He wasn’t even sure Snape was still in the house.

By the time evening came, Harry was bored and had convinced himself Snape had left, so he wandered the halls wallowing in self pity. He entered the library and froze. “Oh.”

Snape was sitting by the fireplace, reading. He looked up when Harry spoke and raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t sure you were still here. I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I assumed you were still sulking,” Snape said. Snapping his book shut, he stood and paused before Harry. “I have a tradition that I will not miss because of your self-loathing. However, I am inviting you to join me.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not self-loathing.”

Snape clenched his jaw and spoke softly, almost gently. “You do not wish to celebrate Christmas because of the loved ones you’ve lost. Presumably, you believe it is your fault that they fought and did not survive. You are, of course, wrong.” He held up a hand to stop Harry from interrupting him. “I have been where you are and, Potter, it will get easier.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“One day you will. Now, would you like to join me?” Snape asked and Harry eyed him warily. He had no idea what they were going to do, and he didn’t want to celebrate; he kind of wanted to be alone but Snape was offering a chance at, not friendship, a peace between them. So Harry took it, and nodded.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Wrap up warmly and meet me by the front door in ten minutes.” Snape brushed past Harry; his hand squeezed comfortingly around Harry’s wrist briefly as he went.

Ten minutes later, Harry was dressed in his coat, with a beanie, a scarf and gloves, and Snape was similarly wrapped up. They stepped out the door and Snape offered his hand; the moment Harry took it, they were whirled away.

When they landed, Harry heard the gentle carols and saw the soft light the church emanated from its many windows. Snape was striding in that direction but he veered to the left and turned back at the little snow-covered gate waiting for Harry to catch up.

It took him a few minutes to realise where they were. By that time, Snape had already produced a wreath of calla lilies and holly berries, and was placing it on Lily Potter’s grave. He stood, looking severe in his black cloak, as he gazed at her tombstone; his fingers brushed the top of it before Harry made his way over.

“Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad…” Harry’s voice broke and the snow crunched as Snape walked away. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by sooner. Tell Remus that Teddy’s doing great. He’s such a boy, climbing up on whatever he can reach, he gets into everything.” He let out a bitter laugh, the cold wind stinging his eyes. “I— I guess Snape’s not with you, Mum. He’s here, with me. He’s not well but I’ll take care of him. I—” Harry gasped. The emotions were overwhelming him. He hadn’t cried. Not at the funerals, not in the days afterwards. But here and now, kneeling in the snow at his parents’ graves with his most hated old Potions professor looking on, Harry felt the sobs come. They wracked his body and he couldn’t stop the loud noise as it left his throat.

Suddenly, there was a warm hand on the back of his neck and Harry leaned into Snape’s shoulder. Vaguely, he became aware of Snape’s other arm encircling him and Snape’s deep voice whispering meaningless words of comfort into his ear. By the time Harry could control himself and stop crying, he felt Snape shaking with cold.

Harry lifted his head and looked into Snape’s face; the man’s lips were tinged blue, and Harry unthinkingly reached out and brushed his fingertips over them. “We need to get you home.”

“Are you alright?” Snape asked.

“Yes, I’m okay.” Harry hurriedly wiped his face. “Thank you.”

Snape could hardly stand; his tremors had stopped and Harry Apparated them to Grimmauld Place. As they entered the warm house, Snape started to shake again and Harry frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Hypothermia,” Snape said through chattering teeth. “Passed the point... this is good… need to warm up.”

“Shall I get Hermione?”

Snape’s head jerked in what Harry took to be a ‘no’. “A shower,” Snape said, and he tried to go up the stairs but couldn’t. Harry quickly held him steady and helped him to the bathroom. He helped Snape sit on the closed toilet while Harry turned the water on. “Not too hot,” Snape ground out; his body was practically vibrating with his shaking.

Harry turned the water down to lukewarm and pulled Snape up to stand. The man was shaking too much for Harry to easily undress him, so he drew his wand and, with a whispered word, Snape’s clothes were falling off his body. Harry kept his hands on Snape’s shoulders, holding him upright as he shook more violently when he was fully nude.

Keeping his eyes averted, Harry helped a shaking Snape into the shower; as soon as he hit the water, Snape hissed in pain. Harry frowned. “It’s barely lukewarm. Can you manage for a second?”

Snape clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead at the wall. Despite his uncontrollable shaking, Snape drew back his shoulders and stepped into more of the spray. Harry watched in awe; this was the man who had lied to Voldemort. Suddenly Snape slumped against the wall; his legs were jelly-like, and Harry lurched forward to hold him steady.

Water pounded down over them both but, despite the water, Snape’s skin still felt cold. Harry’s glasses were steaming up, so he tilted his head out of the spray of the water. “I don’t think this is working,” he said a little desperately, and Snape snorted softly.

A voice in Harry’s head that sounded oddly like Dudley reminded him that ‘the best way to warm a person is to get naked with them.’ Body heat would work. Harry guided Snape so he was sitting on the floor of the shower and Harry quickly stripped himself down. He flicked his wand and the water stopped; another flick and both Harry and Snape were dry, but almost instantly Snape started shaking again.

Harry helped him stand, and Snape’s eyebrows rose when he realised that Harry was naked as well. Feeling his cheeks heat, Harry mumbled nonsense as he led Snape down the hall to his room—the one he’d taken to sleeping in since he came back to Grimmauld after the war. It had no memories for him, which made it easier to sleep at night.

When they entered, Harry immediately deposited Snape on the bed, pulling the covers over him before he lit a fire and brought a couple of extra blankets out from the cupboard. He piled the extra blankets on top of Snape and then slid into the bed, ignoring the glare he received as he curled around the older man’s body.

Rubbing his hands up and down Snape’s chest and arm, Harry tried to encourage the blood to flow. Slowly, Snape stopped shivering and his skin began to feel warm. Harry stopped his rubbing and just lay there with his arm and leg over Snape and his head resting on the pillow by Snape’s black hair. “Happy Christmas,” Harry whispered as he drifted off to sleep.

*^*

It was hot when Harry woke; he wanted nothing more than to throw the covers off and feel the cold air on his skin, but as he tried to draw his arm towards him his hand caught on something. Harry blearily opened his eyes and got an eyeful of Snape’s scar, and everything came back to him. His parents’ graves, Snape comforting him and then getting hypothermic.

Harry slowly drew his hand and arm from Snape’s body and then his leg, which brushed against something hard. In his sleep, Snape moaned and thrust his hips upwards slightly. Freezing with fear that Snape might wake, Harry gently moved away and struggled to put distance between himself and Snape. But Snape’s body turned, seeking out the heat Harry was taking away.

The hot skin of Snape’s body as he pressed against Harry, and the way his hair tickled Harry’s cheek, made Harry feel even hotter. His own cock was hard but he had been studiously ignoring it, not wanting to acknowledge that he was aroused because of Snape.

The more Snape cuddled into him, the more his cock brushed against Harry, and Snape’s hips thrust forward looking for more friction. Harry soon found himself humping the mattress in time with Snape’s thrusts against his back. Snape let out a groan in his sleep and Harry surged from the bed, feeling guilty that he’d taken advantage of a sleeping man.

Harry hurried from the bedroom and into the bathroom, where Snape’s clothes and his were in piles on the floor. Turning the water on high, Harry got in and gripped his cock. He tried to push all thoughts of Snape from his mind but, as he lost himself in the moment and got closer to his climax, Snape’s face, grateful and amused, flashed in Harry’s mind. With a wordless cry he came, splattering the floor of the shower; the water washed his come away quickly and easily.

With a sigh, Harry set about cleaning himself, and he tugged on a towel after he finished before heading back to his room. He had been in such a hurry to escape that he hadn’t got any clothes. Harry checked the knot on his towel, ensuring that it was secure about his waist, before he took a deep breath. Immediately, he scolded himself for being ridiculous about going into his own room as he quietly pushed the door open.

“Hi,” Harry said when he saw that Snape was awake and sitting on the side of the bed. His body was pale and scarred but Harry’s cock twitched as he eyed up and down the long legs and torso. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Thank you, Potter,” Snape said gruffly.

Nodding, Harry entered the room. “You can call me Harry. I mean, we’ve slept together, it’s the least you could do.” Harry grinned and then his brain caught up to his mouth and he flushed. “I mean— shit. Sorry.”

“Indeed, Harry,” Snape said. His voice was doing funny things to Harry’s stomach, making it feel tight and fluttery. “You may call me Severus.”

“Cool.” Harry smiled. “I’ll just get dressed and then make some breakfast. If you’re up for it?”

Snape— _Severus_ — Harry’s mind provided, nodded and he stood, uncaring of his nudity, and made his way out of Harry’s bedroom. Harry couldn’t help but glance at his groin as he passed and then, when the door shut behind Severus, Harry flopped on the bed in embarrassment.

*^*

Over the next few days, Harry and Severus spent more time in each other's company. Harry kept shooting glances at his old professor and, when Severus caught him looking, Harry would flush and look away, mumbling; more often than not, he left the room soon after.

Neither of them mentioned Christmas night, or the morning that followed. Harry was embarrassed and unsure if Severus knew about the way they rutted against each other, and as for Severus, Harry was sure he knew something but what it was, he never said. Which, in its own way, drove Harry to distraction.

Things came to a head on the last day of the year. Harry was in the kitchen making dinner, Severus was in the library, and the Floo flared. Charlie stepped out, grinning sheepishly as he brushed soot from his shoulder. “Mum sent me,” he said in response to Harry’s unasked question. “Told me to bring you round for dinner to celebrate the New Year with your family.”

Harry stood holding a wooden spoon that dripped onto the floor. “I—”

Charlie came forward striding closer until he stood immediately before Harry. Harry could feel Charlie’s body heat and smell the sandalwood soap he used; it wasn’t as enticing as the spicy, earthy smell of Severus.

“I already have dinner on,” Harry said feebly, and he turned back to the stove and stirred the sauce. Charlie put his hand on Harry’s hip and bent down to whisper in his ear,

“But I can’t kiss you at midnight if you’re here and I’m there.”

Harry let out a little whimper; he didn’t want to kiss Charlie, he wanted to kiss—

“Ahem.”

Shoving Charlie back, Harry turned to see Severus standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed.

“Snape?” Charlie sounded shocked. “We thought you were dead.”

“Evidently not, Weasley.” Severus pierced Harry with a glare before he swept from the room.

Harry made a slight noise in the back of his throat, and he made to go after Severus, only to turn around and look at Charlie, who shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. We had fun, nothing ever serious, Harry, I know that. Go. He won’t be easy to convince.”

With a grateful smile at Charlie, Harry fled the room. He wasn’t sure where Severus had gone, so he checked the library and his bedroom and every room in the house before he found Severus in Regulus’ room.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Harry said foolishly as he stood in the doorway. Severus nodded once but said nothing. “Charlie’s gone,” Harry added.

Severus still said nothing and Harry, wooden spoon still in hand, approached him where he stood looking out the window. It had started to snow and Harry smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s snow,” Severus said, which Harry took as a good sign.

“I like snow. It blankets everything, like a clean slate. You can start over with snow.” Harry turned to look at Severus, placing the wooden spoon on the window sill. Severus eyed it with disdain for a moment before looking back outside. “Severus—”

Harry didn’t know what else to say, so he placed a hand on Severus’ shoulder and pushed until the man was half turned towards him. Severus was being stubborn and Harry leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I— I feel safe with you.” Swallowing heavily, Harry rested his forehead against Severus’ jaw. “Like I’m home.”

A warm hand cupped the back of Harry’s head, and Severus’ other arm twined around his waist. Harry shifted, tilting his head up to see better, when Severus bent down to press their lips together.

It was gentle, just their mouths pressed together, but it was enough for now. 

-The End-

  



End file.
